"And you don't call yourself a traitor to your State, I suppose?"

"I don't, because I have made no effort to overthrow the legal government of my State. Between you and me, I joined that privateer because I did not think it would be safe to do anything else."

"There's where you showed your good sense," said Gifford earnestly. "Judging by what I have heard, you took the only course that was open to you. The people here are not half as crazy as they are in Charleston, Wilmington, and Newbern, but they are none the less dead in earnest, and you will find that after the State goes out, a Union man will not be safe in this country. I think you have completely allayed suspicion here in Nashville, but you want to look out for secret enemies near home. Whatever you do, don't run Beardsley's schooner aground."

"What have I got to do with running the schooner?" asked Marcy, who was surprised at the extent of his friend's information. He began to see that he and his movements had been pretty thoroughly discussed.

"You're going to pilot her," answered Gifford. "That's what you've got to do with running her, and I say again, don't run her aground."

"If I do accidentally, Beardsley will shoot me, I suppose."

"No, he won't. He hasn't the pluck to shoot a squirrel; but you never could make him believe that it was an accident, and when he got ashore he would do all he could to inflame the secessionists against you. He seems to have something against you. I can't imagine what it is—"

"I can," replied Marcy, coloring to the roots of his hair. "He wants to marry our plantation."

"Whew!" whispered Gifford. "That is a piece of news, I confess, but it's safe, old boy. He'll not make it, of course. Then you have a most implacable foe in Lon Beardsley. He is one of your secret enemies, and that overseer of yours—what's his name, Hanson?—is another. They are sworn friends, I have heard, and if your mother has any money stowed away—Mind, I don't ask whether she has or not, because it is none of my business. But I understand that before you came home she made several trips about the country that could not have been made for nothing. If she has any money, take all the precautions you can think of to keep it from Hanson's knowledge. He's far more dangerous than Beardsley, because he's right there on the place. I'll ride up and see you to-morrow or next day, and then I will tell you more."

Just then the conversation was interrupted by the approach of a party of young fellows who wanted to shake hands with the soldier who had faced the Yankees in battle, and tell Marcy Gray that they were glad to hear he had joined the privateer, and that they had been mistaken in him, having supposed that he was for the Union and dead against secession. Having discharged this duty, and promised the young pilot that they would surely ride out and make him a visit before he sailed, they turned to Gifford and demanded a complete history of the battle in Charleston harbor.

"If it was a battle I hope I may never be in a worse one," replied the soldier, who was not as proud of that affair as were some of those who had no hand in it. "The South Carolina boys had everything their own way. There were few outsiders in it, except some who, like myself, were doing business in the city. Five thousand against fifty-one! Shucks!"

"But you heard the bullets whistle, and that's a thing to be proud of," said one.

"I didn't hear a single bullet, but I heard a shell or two, and saw the old flag come down. That was something I was sorry for."

Gifford could talk in this strain as much as he pleased because he had "been there"; but If Marcy Gray had ventured upon it, being under suspicion as he was, beyond a doubt he or his mother would have suffered for it. During the time he spent in waiting for the mail, he was never alone for a single minute. All his old friends seemed desirous of "making themselves square" with him, and not one left his side without first telling him that somehow the mistaken idea had got abroad that he was strong for the Union.

"And so I am," said Marcy to himself, as he mounted his horse and set out for home, glad to get away from the people who so misunderstood him. "I utterly despise this double life, but don't see any release from it just now. I should like to show myself true to my colors, but what can I do among a lot of ruffians who would burn the roof over my mother's head if I gave them the slightest excuse for it?"

When Marcy rode into his own yard he was surprised to see two strange carriages under the shed (a sight that had been common enough once upon a time, but which he had not seen before since his return from Barrington), and when he entered the room where his mother was sitting, he found that those carriages had brought to the house a party of ladies who had kept aloof from Mrs. Gray ever since she failed to celebrate South Carolina's secession by displaying a "nullification" badge. These ladies were as friendly and sociable as they had ever been, and a stranger would not for a moment have suspected that they had thought it advisable to drop Marcy's mother from their list of acquaintances. They fairly "gushed" over the boy when they told him how delighted they were to learn that he had enlisted under the banner of the Confederacy.

"But I haven't enlisted, and what's more I don't intend to," answered Marcy, who was resolved that there should be no misunderstanding on that point. "I've got to stay at home and look out for mother."

"But you and your brave comrades can run out once in a while and annoy the enemy's commerce, and that will be the same as though you were fighting in the army. Now is the time for every true son of the South to show his colors."

"Then it's high time some of their sons were showing their colors," said Marcy, after supper had been served, and the ladies had gone away and he was alone with his mother. "There were four women in that party who have sons older than I am. I saw them in town to-day; and although they showed themselves to be blatant rebels, and talked loudly about the good times we are going to have whipping the Yankees, they never said a word about going into the army. Why don't those women preach their doctrines at home instead of coming here to bother us with them?"

Then he told his mother what had passed between himself and Wat Gifford, and said he hoped Wat would visit him as he promised, for he was anxious to know what else his friend had to tell him. He had warned him against two secret enemies, and Marcy was sure he would feel safer if he knew who the others were. But it was a long time before he saw Wat Gifford again. The latter rode up the very next day, but the boy he wanted to see was on his way to Newbern in the privateer, to take on board the two howitzers which Beardsley fondly hoped would be the means of bringing him so much prize-money that he would not be obliged to do another stroke of work the longest day he lived. Even while Marcy was talking to his mother Captain Beardsley galloped into the yard with a smile on his face and an official envelope in his hand, which he flourished in the air when he drew his horse up at the foot of the steps. Marcy's heart sank within him, and his mother turned away to conceal her agitation. Beardsley had received his commission, and there was no backing out.



"Tain't nothing to turn white over, Mrs. Gray," exclaimed the captain exultingly. "Seems to me that you ought to feel proud to know that your boy has got the chance to strike a telling blow at the enemies of his native State. That's the way it makes me feel, and, Marcy, we want to get the schooner out as soon as we can, so as to catch the ebb tide to take us down to Newbern."

"That means that you need him this very night, I suppose?" faltered Mrs. Gray.

"Yes-um. That's what it means. The sooner he gets there to lend a hand, the better I'll like it."

"Has that man Tierney been discharged?" asked Marcy.

"He discharged himself," answered. Beardsley. "He must have seen you come into my yard and suspicioned what was up, for when I got to the schooner, he wasn't there. And his partner couldn't tell me nothing about him neither."

"I'll be along as soon as I can put a few clothes in a valise," said Marcy; whereupon Beardsley said good-by to Mrs. Gray and rode out of the yard.

"What was that man, whose name you mentioned, discharged for?" inquired Mrs. Gray, who knew too well that Marcy was going away under command of a man who would bring harm to him if he could.

"He was discharged because I didn't like his looks," replied the boy. "He told me he was for the Union, but I did not believe a word of it. Now, mother, I need everything I took when I went with Julius last vacation to explore the coast. I wish now that I had stayed at home, for then Beardsley wouldn't have thought of hiring me. Let us be as lively as we can, for it will look suspicious if I hang back."

Although the mother's heart was almost ready to break, she exhibited no sign of emotion. Like thousands of other women all over the land she gave up her son, hoping almost against hope that the fates would be kind enough to bring him back to her; but it is not to be supposed that she called Heaven's choicest blessings down upon the heads of the secession leaders who had made the sacrifice necessary. Marcy bustled about, doing no good whatever, but just to keep from thinking, and in ten minutes more there had been a tender farewell at the gate, a single kiss of parting, and the pilot of the privateer was well on his way toward Captain Beardsley's house. That gentleman saw him coming and waited for him. Perhaps he had hoped that the boy would show the white feather at the last moment. If so, he did not know Marcy Gray.

"We'll be short-handed going down," said he, as he led the way across the road and into the bushes; "but we shall be all right the minute we strike Newbern. When I got my commission out of the office this afternoon I telegraphed to my agent telling him we would start to-night, and for him to be sure and have a crew ready for us."

"Why, I thought your crew was already shipped," said Marcy. "You certainly gave me to understand as much."

"So they were, but I don't much expect to find 'em when I get there. They'll get tired of waiting and go out on the first ship that sails. But we'll have a crew. Don't worry about that."

"Worse and worse," thought Marcy. "We'll get a crew undoubtedly; but what sort of men will they be? Dock-rats and 'longshoremen, most likely, such as a decent captain wouldn't have on board his vessel. If we get into trouble and I run the schooner aground while trying to bring her out, they will be just the sort to pitch me overboard."

As this thought passed through Marcy's mind he slipped his hand into his pocket. Captain Beardsley saw the motion and inquired:

"Got a pop with you?"

"You wouldn't go on an expedition like this without one, would you?" asked Marcy, in reply. "Have you bargained for any small arms for the schooner?"

"I have, and know right where to get 'em. But I shall keep them locked up in the cabin and give 'em out to the crew only when I think it necessary."

"That's a good plan," observed Marcy. "Do you know anything about gunnery?"

"No, but one of the men I expect to get does. He has served his time on board an English man-of-war and knows all about howitzers, and such things. We couldn't get along without a gunner, you know. If we didn't have one, how would we bring the prizes to?"

Marcy wondered why the captain had so much to say on this point. He asked the question merely out of curiosity, and the man answered it as though Marcy had objected to having a gunner aboard. He learned more about it after a while.

When they reached the bank of the bayou in which the schooner was moored, Marcy found that Beardsley had acted promptly, and that the vessel was ready to be towed into the river. He had stopped there on his way home from the post-office to warn the ship-keeper, and immediately on his arrival at his own house, he had sent a dozen or more stout negroes to man the yawl with which she was to be hauled out.

"Come here, you mokes, and set us aboard," said Captain Beardsley to the negroes who were waiting in the yawl. "Now, let go the fasts and stand by to take a tow-line out for'ard." Then he said to the ship-keeper, in a low tone, "Is Tierney aboard?" and the man replied by pointing toward the deck, indicating, no doubt, that the man who had "discharged himself" could be found on the berth-deck whenever his services were needed.

By the aid of the negroes, who were handy with a boat, the schooner was towed from the bayou into Seven Mile Creek and thence into the Roanoke River a short distance above Plymouth. The jib and foresail were hoisted before she got there, and when they began to draw and the schooner to feel their influence, the darkies were commanded to cast off the tow-line and make the best of their way to the plantation. Marcy went to the wheel, not because there was any piloting to be done in that open river, but for the reason that he happened to be nearest to it, and Captain Beardsley came aft and spoke to him.

"When she gets clear of Plymouth we'll run up the mainsail and then she'll go a-humming," said he, rubbing his hands gleefully together. "This is the first time I was ever in command of a vessel sailing by government authority, and I feel an inch or two taller'n I ever felt before on my own quarter-deck. But this is a gun-deck now, aint it?" he added, stamping his foot upon it to see how solid it was. "If we only had aboard the howitzer that belongs here so that we could salute Plymouth as we skim by—You aint listening to me at all. What you looking at so steady?"

The captain faced about, and, following the direction of Marcy's gaze, saw the man Tierney slowly climbing the stairs that led to the deck. When he got to the top he turned around and came aft in the most unconcerned manner possible.

"Well, there," exclaimed the captain, dropping both his hands by his side and acting as if he were too astonished to say more just then. "If he aint got back I wouldn't say so."

Marcy's first thought was to give the wheel a fling, spill the sails, and demand to be put ashore at once; but he did not do it. As Dixon once told the colonel of the Barrington academy, it was too plain a case. Tierney had been aboard the schooner all the time, and Marcy might have found it out if he had been sharp enough to look between decks.

"I'm glad he's come back, for he's the gunner I was telling you about," whispered the captain. "We couldn't get along without him, don't you know we couldn't? Say," he added, as Tierney came up, "didn't you leave word with your partner that you had discharged yourself and wasn't never coming back any more? Aint you a pretty chap to show your face aboard my vessel, and you talking of giving her up to the—"

"Oh, what's the use of keeping that farce up any longer?" cried Marcy, in disgust. "You can't fool me. I don't know what Tierney's object was in trying to bamboozle me the way he did—"

"Well, I'll tell you," the man interposed, "and I'll be honest with you, too. I heard you were a Union man, and I did not want to sail with you if you were."

"That's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," chimed in the captain, nodding and winking at Marcy.

"Well, are you quite satisfied with the test you applied to me?" inquired the pilot.

"I am. I know that you are as good a Southern man as any body in the country."

"And you are willing to acknowledge that you and the captain talked the matter over beforehand, and that when you came to me, to urge me to seize the vessel and turn her over to the Yankees, you did it with his knowledge and consent?" continued Marcy, controlling himself with an effort.

"Course he is," exclaimed Beardsley. "I told him he would find you true as steel, but he—"

"But I wouldn't believe it until I had proved it to my own satisfaction," chimed in Tierney.

The man acted as though he had half a mind to extend his hand to Marcy in token of amity, but if he had, he thought better of it, and in obedience to the captain's order called the other ship-keeper aft to assist in hoisting the mainsail.

"He didn't offer to shake hands, and that proves that he isn't as friendly as he lets on to be," thought Marcy. "He and the captain are playing into each other's hands. That story was all made up, and if I don't keep my eyes open, they will spring another plot on me. This is a lovely way to live; but I've got to keep suspicion down in someway, and I don't know how else I can do it."

Nothing exciting or interesting occurred during the run to Newbern, for there were no war-vessels inside the sandy bars which inclose the coast of North Carolina and protect it from the fury of the Atlantic storms. Aided by the strong ebb tide and the favorable breeze that was blowing, the privateer made a quick passage along the low, swampy shores of Albemarle, and finally entered Croatan Sound, which runs between the eastern coast and Roanoke Island, and connects Pamlico with Albemarle Sound. The forts, water-batteries, and Commodore Lynch's fleet, which were afterward destroyed by Burnside and Goldsborough, were not in existence now. Forts Hatteras and Clark were being built at Hatteras Inlet, but the Confederates wasted time in their construction, for on the 28th day of August Butler and Stringham captured them without the loss of a man, and in defiance of a storm which twice compelled the assaulting fleet to put to sea for safety. How Marcy Gray's heart would have throbbed with exultation if he had known that the flag his Barrington girl gave him was destined to float in triumph over the very waters through which he was now sailing, and at the masthead of a Federal vessel of war! That glorious day was only seven months in the future, but the young pilot had some tight places to sail through before it came around to him.

Marcy Gray had so little heart for the business in which he was perforce engaged, that he hoped something might happen at Newbern to prevent the schooner from sailing on her piratical mission—that the collector of the port might find some fault with her papers; that the howitzers and small arms might not be forthcoming; that it might be impossible to raise a crew; or that anything, no matter what, would come at the last moment to knock Beardsley's scheme in the head. But he was disappointed. The collector could not find any fault with the vessel's commission, for he himself had received it direct from the Confederate capital and forwarded it to the captain; the agent had scarcely slept since he received that dispatch from Nashville, and the result was that when the schooner sailed up to her wharf, she found the howitzers, four cases of muskets and sabers, and a crew of eighteen men, including two mates, waiting for her. The patriotic agent unfurled a brand-new Confederate banner as the schooner threw out a line by which her head could be drawn into the pier, and jumped aboard with it the moment she touched.

"May it be the means of bringing you many an honest dollar," said he, as he spread the flag upon the deck so that the captain could see it. "Are your halliards rove? Then why not go into commission at once, while there is a crowd on the wharf to holler for you? Come aboard, you fellows," he added, waving his hand to the crew, who were already tumbling over the rail, "and stand by to cheer ship when the banner of the Confederacy is run up. Did your vessel take a new name with her coat of new paint, captain?"

"Yes, I kinder thought I would call her the Fish-Hawk."

"Isn't that a queer name for a privateer?" asked the agent.

"Why is it?" inquired the captain, who was busy folding the flag and getting it ready to be run up to the masthead. "Don't the fish-hawk get her living from the water, and aint I going to get mine the same way?"

"That's true. Well, then, call her Osprey. That sounds a little better, I think, and it means the same thing."

"All right. Osprey she is," answered the captain, as he hauled up the flag which had been made into a little bundle. "You stand by to set 'em going."

The crew, as well as the rapidly increasing crowd on the wharf, who watched the little bundle as it traveled toward the head of the mast, did not wait for the agent to "set them going"! When it reached the top, and a slight jerk from one of the halliards loosened the flag to the breeze, they yelled vociferously, and patted one another on the back and shook hands as though they considered it a very auspicious occasion.

"Now, give three cheers for Captain Beardsley and his privateer Osprey, who have so promptly responded to our President's call. May they strike such terror to the hearts of the Yankee nation that they won't have a ship on the sea in six months from this day."

Of course such talk as this just suited the crowd on the wharf, who yelled longer and louder than before. Of course, too, Marcy had to join them in order to keep up appearances, but he almost despised himself for it, and made the mental prediction that in a good deal less than six months' time the people of Newbern would cease to remember that such a schooner as the Osprey ever existed, although her arrival was loudly heralded in all the city papers. Her "saucy air" and the "duck-like manner in which she rode the waters," were especially spoken of, and one reporter, whose penetration was both surprising and remarkable, discovered in Captain Beardsley a man who would "do and dare anything for the success of the glorious cause he had been so prompt to espouse."

The rest of that day and all the succeeding one were consumed in getting the provisions, ammunition, and arms aboard, mounting the howitzers, and stationing the crew. When the work was ended late at night, Marcy tumbled into his bunk between decks, heartily disgusted with the life he was leading. The schooner was to run out with the last of the ebb tide in the morning, so as to catch the flood tide, which would help her up to Crooked Inlet.



CHAPTER XVIII.

CONCLUSION.

It took them the best part of the next day to run to their destination, and the whole of the following one to find and buoy the channel, which changed more or less with every storm that swept the coast. Marcy thought it a foolhardy piece of business to depend upon that treacherous inlet for a way of escape in case the schooner was discovered and pursued by a ship of war, and told Captain Beardsley so; but the latter simply smiled, referred Marcy to the work he had done that day, and reminded him that there were eight feet of water in the deepest part of the channel, and that the privateer, fully loaded, drew but little more than six.

"There aint a sea-going vessel in the Yankee navy that can run on six foot of water, and I know it," chuckled Beardsley. "If one of 'em gets after us we'll skim through easy as falling off a log, but she'll stick, 'specially if she runs 'cording to them buoys you set out." This was the "work" to which the captain referred. At that time the rule was for all ship-masters to leave black buoys to starboard and the red ones to port; or, to put it in English, they were to pass to the left of the black buoys, and to the right of red ones, or run the risk of getting aground and losing their insurance, in case their ships went to pieces. But Marcy, acting under the orders of Captain Beardsley (who, now that he was fairly afloat, began to show that he was much more of a sailor than the folks around home thought he was), had changed this order of things by anchoring the red buoys on the right of the channel going out, and the black ones on the left. Of course it was necessary for the pilot to bear this in mind if he were called upon to take the privateer through there in a hurry, or on a dark night when the wind was blowing strongly. To a landsman this may seem like a very small thing, but it was enough to insure the destruction of any vessel whose commander was so daring as to try to follow in Captain Beardsley's lead. More than that, Crooked Inlet was not marked upon any government chart. The Atlantic Ocean had opened it since the last survey was made.

All things being in readiness for the cruise, the Osprey ran through the inlet on the morning of the third day out from Newbern, and spread her wings to swoop down upon the first unsuspecting merchantman which happened to be holding along the coast inside of Diamond Shoals. Now the crosstrees were manned for the first time, a small pull taken at the sheets fore and aft, and with a fine breeze over her quarter the schooner ran off to the southeast toward the fair-weather highway leading from the West Indies to Northern ports. Then the young pilot, who had given up his place at the wheel, had leisure to look about him and make a mental estimate of the crew. If there was a native American among them he could not find him. He guessed right when he told himself that they must have belonged to foreign vessels in port when President Lincoln's proclamation was issued, and that Beardsley's agent had induced them to join the Confederacy by offering higher wages than they were receiving, and making extravagant promises of a wild, free, easy life aboard the privateer, and unlimited dollars to spend in the way of prize money. But as far as Marcy could see they were good sailors, and Captain Beardsley and his mates enforced discipline from the first.

The young pilot was surprised at the ease with which the master of the schooner threw off his 'longshore manners and assumed the habit and language of a seafaring man. He had been a trader in a small way ever since Marcy could remember, and he said himself that the longest voyage he ever made was from some port in Cuba to New York. He had a way of going and coming at very irregular intervals. Sometimes his schooner would lie idle for months, and Beardsley would work among his negroes with so much industry and perseverance, that the planters around him would come to think he had given up the sea for good; but all on a sudden he would disappear as if by magic, and it would be a long time before any one could find out where he was or what he had been doing; and they were obliged to take his word for that. Marcy Gray was not the only one who thought that the term "smuggler" would come nearer to describing his vocation than the word "trader." But in spite of his erratic movements and long intervals of rest on shore, Captain Beardsley was a fair navigator and knew how to handle his schooner. He knew also, and quickly assumed, the dignity befitting his station, kept his quarter-deck sacred to himself, and, except when they were on duty, never permitted his crew to come aft the foremast This made a gulf between him and Marcy, but the latter did not mind that. He was content to be considered one of the crew.

Seventy hours passed, and the only thing the lookouts saw during that time to indicate that they were not alone on the ocean, was a thin cloud of smoke in the horizon, which might come from the chimneys of a peaceful passenger vessel, or from those of a cruiser on the watch for just such crafts as the Osprey was; and so Captain Beardsley prudently came about and sailed leisurely back toward the point from whence he started. This move was just what brought her first prize into the clutches of the Osprey.

Land had been out of sight for almost two days. In her eagerness to catch something the schooner had gone far beyond the highway toward which she had first shaped her course, but this retrograde movement brought her back to it. On the morning of the third day the thrilling cry "Sail ho!" came from aloft, and in an instant the deck was in commotion, the man at the wheel so far forgetting himself as to allow the privateer to swing into the wind with all her canvas flapping.

"Keep her steady, there," shouted the captain angrily. "Where away?" he continued, hailing the crosstrees.

"Broad on the weather beam. Topsail schooner, and standing straight across our course."

The captain seized a glass and hastened aloft to take a look at the stranger, while those on deck crowded to the rail and strained their eyes for a glimpse of the sail, which had not yet showed her top-hamper above the horizon. No change was made in the course of the privateer, and neither was anything done toward casting loose the guns. There would be time enough for that when the captain had made up his mind what he was going to do. He sat on the crosstrees beside the lookout for an hour without saying a word. By that time the sail was visible from the deck. To quote from one of the crew she was coming up at a hand gallop. Then Captain Beardsley was satisfied to come down and take charge of the deck.

"She's ours," Marcy heard him say to the two mates. "I would not sell my chances of making a rich haul for any reasonable sum of money. If I know anything about vessels, she is a Cuban trader bound to New York. Ease the Osprey up a bit. Don't crowd her so heavy, and the chase will pass by within half a mile of us. But we mustn't let her get by, for she is a trotter, and every inch of her muslin is drawing beautifully."

While the second mate set about obeying the last order, the captain addressed some others to the first officer, and in a remarkably brief time, considering their short experience on board the privateer, her crew had cast loose the bow gun and trained it over the port side, the magazine and shell-rooms had been opened and lighted, and Tierney, who acted in the double capacity of captain of the bow gun and drill-master to the crews of both, had driven home a five-second shrapnel.

"All ready forward, sir," said he.

"Throw that piece of canvas back over the gun to hide it," commanded Captain Beardsley. "Send all the men below that are not needed on deck. Gray, go aft and stand by to run up the Yankee flag when I tell you."

The topsail schooner could be plainly seen now, and Marcy was sailor enough to note that if her captain did not suspect there was something wrong, he acted like it. This could hardly be wondered at, for taking into consideration the "natty" appearance of the privateer, the lubberly way in which she was sailed, standing so far off wind when she ought to have been close to it if she were sailing her course, was enough to excite anybody's suspicions. Two of her officers were in the rigging, and Captain Beardsley, who was mentally calculating her chances for running by his own vessel in case she made the attempt, took his glass from his eye long enough to remark:

"They don't quite like our looks, do they? That proves that they are from some near port, and heard something about privateers before they sailed. I heard that parties in New Orleans had steamers afloat a week ago. Marcy, show them the Yankee flag and see if that won't quiet their feelings."

"If that isn't stealing the livery of Heaven to serve the Evil One in I don't want a cent," said Marcy, to himself, as with an "Aye, aye, sir," he obeyed the order that was intended to lure the stranger to her destruction. At the same moment her own colors, the Stars and Stripes, were run up to the peak.

But the sight of the friendly flag did not seem to allay the suspicions of those on board the topsail schooner. To the great surprise of those who were watching her, her bow began to swing slowly around, her sails trembled in the air for a minute or two and then moved over to the other side, her yard was braced forward, the sheets hauled taut, and she was off on the other tack with a big bone in her teeth. By this move she hoped to pass so far astern of the suspicious-looking craft in front of her, as to be beyond range of the light guns her captain had reason to believe were concealed under those piles of canvas which looked so innocent at a distance. It was beautifully and quickly done; but who ever saw a Yankee skipper who did not know how to handle his ship, or who would give her up to an enemy if he saw the slightest chance to escape with her? The Confederate Admiral Semmes had more than one chase after a plucky Yankee captain, who was resolved that he would not come to if he could help it, and he often goes out of his way to pay deserved tribute to the skill and courage of Northern sailors.

"That's his best sailing-point, and he's got a breeze that don't reach us," Captain Beardsley almost howled, stamping about the deck and shaking his fist at the flying schooner. "Where are you, Tierney? Fire that gun at him. Pitch the ball into him the first time without stopping to send it across his bows. Do something, or he'll get away from us."

Tierney and his crew, who had scattered themselves over the deck in obedience to an order from the mate, were on hand almost before the angry skipper had ceased talking. The captain of the gun knew that the schooner was far beyond the reach of the short-time projectile he had in his piece, but that did not prevent him from obeying orders. The canvas covering was torn off and cast aside, the gun trained, and the lock-string pulled. The privateer trembled all over with the force of the concussion; the howitzer bounded from its place and recoiled as far as its breeching would permit it to go, and the shrapnel went shrieking on its way. But it did not go more than a quarter of the distance that intervened between the two vessels before it exploded. However, it showed the crew of the fleeing schooner that her enemy was fully armed, and it enabled Tierney to load his gun with a shell provided with a longer fuse.

"Send home another one that will go farther before it busts," shouted Captain Beardsley. "And while you're doing it, we'll see if we can't come around on the other tack about as quick as she did."

Remember that the two vessels, pursuer and pursued, had not yet passed. They were sailing diagonally toward each other at the first, and that was the relative position they held when the privateer came about and stood off on the other tack. If Captain Beardsley had understood his business he might have had the after-gun cast loose and loaded with a fifteen-second shell, and fired it at the chase as the stern of the Osprey swung around. Marcy thought this could have been done, but of course he said nothing. His sympathies were entirely with the captain who had determined to make a race of it.

"I do hope he'll get away," thought the boy, looking first at the canvas of his own vessel to see how it was drawing, and then at the topsail schooner which was making such gallant efforts to escape. "Suppose the captain owns that craft, and that it is everything he has in the world to depend on for a living for his family? It will be just awful to take it away from him. Why don't Uncle Sam send some cruisers down here?"

While Marcy stood on the quarter-deck meditating, Tierney was working on the forecastle, and now he called out:

"All ready for'ard, sir."

"Let her have it!" cried the captain; and then, seeing that Marcy Gray was still holding fast to the halliards that kept the starry flag at the peak, he shouted: "Why don't you haul that thing down and run aloft the Stars and Bars? Are you asleep?"

"No, sir," replied the boy. "Waiting for orders, sir."

"Down with it then, and put our own flag up there," commanded the captain. "Fire, Tierney!"

The howitzer once more belched forth a cloud of flame and smoke, and Marcy stood on tiptoe and held his breath in suspense while he waited for the result. He felt the cold chills creep along his spine when, after an interval that seemed very short for the distance the shot had to travel, he saw it strike the water in line with the schooner and explode a second later almost at her side. There was no mistake about it this time. A fifteen-second fuse was long enough, and the next shot, with a single half-degree more of elevation, would surely strike her. Her skipper saw it, and rather than allow his vessel to be shot to pieces and his men killed before his eyes, he spilled his sails and gave up the contest.

"Come on deck, you lubbers below, and cheer our first prize," shouted the mate, who was almost beside himself with joy and excitement. "There she is, laying to and waiting for you to go and take possession," he went on, as the crew tumbled up the ladder. "Count your prize-money up on your fingers and then give a cheer."

This was an insulting way to treat men who had done all that brave men could do to elude their enemy, and surrendered at last because they had no means of defending themselves, and Marcy was glad to notice that Tierney saw it, and did not join in the cheers that followed. Perhaps the man had a better heart than Marcy had given him credit for.

"Where's that boat's crew?" inquired the captain, meaning the men who had been drilled in lowering the yawl and pulling off to imaginary prizes. "Here's the keys to the cabin, Marcy. Unlock the door and give every man who comes to you a saber, revolver, and a box of cartridges. And you," he added, turning to the first mate as Marcy took the keys and hastened below, "tumble ten men besides the boat's crew into the yawl, go off to the prize, and send the master and his papers on board of us. Put all the schooner's company, except the mates, in double irons, and stow them away somewhere under guard. Then keep your weather eye on me and follow in my wake when I fill away for Newbern. That's the way we'll manage things as often as we take a prize."

While these orders were being obeyed the Osprey was sailing steadily toward her prize; and by the time the men had been selected and the small arms distributed, she had come as close to her as Captain Beardsley thought it safe to venture. Having performed his duty, Marcy returned to the deck just in time to see the prize crew climbing upon her deck. A quarter of an hour later the boat came back, bringing a strange man who certainly took matters very coolly, seeing that he had lost his vessel and a valuable cargo.

"Captain," said he, as he clambered over the Osprey's rail, "I don't understand the situation at all, for all your mate would say to me was that my ship was a prize to the Confederate privateer Osprey."

"What else did you want him to say?" asked Captain Beardsley, with a smile that must have made the merchant skipper angry. "That's the whole thing in a nutshell. Where are your papers? See that flag up there? That's the one I sail under. You must have heard that there were such fellows as me afloat, or you wouldn't have shied off as you did."

"Your appearance was all right, but I didn't like the way you acted," replied the skipper. "Yes, I have heard that there are some gentlemen of your sort roaming around the Gulf."

"Your schooner is the Mary Hollins, bound from Havana to Boston with an assorted cargo," said Captain Beardsley. "There is no attempt made to 'cover' either?"

"No, sir; it is an American vessel and her cargo is consigned to an American house," answered the skipper, who knew it would be useless to deny it with the plain facts staring Captain Beardsley in the face. "But, captain, I protest against your putting my men in irons. They are not felons, to be treated that way."

"Can't help it," said Beardsley shortly. "Can't you see for yourself that I have a small crew, and that I must take measures to prevent your men from recapturing the prize? I'll let 'em out as soon as we get through Hatteras."

The master of the privateer exchanged a few words with his second mate, and in a minute or two more the Osprey came about and pointed her nose toward Newbern, the Mary Hollins following in her wake. The crew stepped around with unwonted alacrity, and tugged at the sheets as energetically as though the prize dollars the agent had promised them were fastened to the other end. Everybody was happy except Marcy Gray and the unfortunate skipper of the Mary Hollins. He took his capture very philosophically, but Marcy was sure he did some deep and earnest thinking while he stood on the privateer's quarterdeck, pulling his whiskers, and looking back at the vessel he had lost. Marcy almost wished that he could change places with him so that he could enter the navy as soon as he was released, and assist in sweeping the sea of such crafts as the Osprey. He dared not speak to him, for that would excite suspicion, and the prisoner, who looked at Marcy now and then, probably thought the boy as good a rebel as there was on board.

The low sand dunes about Hatteras Inlet, as well as the unfinished walls of the forts that were to defend it, came up out of the sea shortly after daylight the next morning, and at one o'clock the Osprey and her prize sailed through, loudly cheered by the working parties ashore. The prisoner now reminded Captain Beardsley of the promise he had made regarding the crew of the Mary Hollins, but Beardsley got out of it by saying that he had no way of signaling to the prize, and could not think of waiting for her to come alongside so that he could hail her. The truth was Captain Beardsley believed that the Yankees would fight if they were given half a chance. The sound upon which the vessels were now sailing was a pretty large body of water, Newborn was still many miles away, and if the Hollins's men were freed from their irons, they might recapture their vessel and elude the Osprey during the night that was coming. Beardsley kept them in durance until he reached port, and then released them to be jeered and hooted by the crowd that followed them from the wharf to the jail in which they were confined.

The reception that was extended to himself and his men was of different character. They were cheered to the echo, and as many as could get upon the decks of the Osprey and her prize, insisted on shaking them by the hand and telling them what brave fellows they were, and how much they had done for the glorious cause of Southern independence. Beardsley's agent was on hand, of course, and when he had seen the Mary Hollins turned over to the collector of the port, he insisted that the Osprey should run out again at once and make another haul, before the seizure of the Hollins became known at the North; but, to Marcy Gray's intense delight, Beardsley refused to budge.

"Not much I won't go outside again and leave you land-sharks to handle my prize and the money she'll sell for," he declared, with so much emphasis that the agent did not think it best to urge him further. "Me and my men have got the biggest interest in the Mary Hollins, and right here we stay till the legality of the capture has been settled, the vessel and cargo sold, and the dollars that belong to us are planked down in our two hands."

"Then I may go home?" said Marcy, as soon as he saw a good chance to ask the question.

"Course. Go by first train if you want to."

That was enough for the boy, who was disgusted with life on board a privateer. He hastened below, and in less than twenty minutes presented himself in Beardsley's cabin with his "grip" in one hand and a paper in the other.

"That's a leave of absence," said Marcy, placing the paper before the captain. "I don't suppose it is drawn up in proper form, but it will serve to show the people at home that I am there with your permission. I'd be glad if you would sign it."

The captain did so without a word of objection, gave Marcy a few messages to be delivered to his friends in and around Nashville, and promised to look out for his share of the prize money.

"You can keep it, if you can bring yourself to touch it," thought the boy, as he walked ashore, after shouting good-by to the crew, and bent his steps toward the nearest telegraph office. "It would burn my hands."

He sent a dispatch to his mother requesting that Morris might be sent to meet him at the depot at a certain time, and to allay any fears that might be awakened in her mind by his sudden return to Newbern, he announced that the privateer had just brought a valuable prize into port. Those few words sent the dispatch through without a cent's worth of expense to himself.

"So you are one of those gallant fellows, are you?" said the operator. "Well, I'll send it off and call it square. You deserve a world of credit."

"I can't for the life of me see where an armed vessel wins credit in capturing one that is entirely without means of defense," replied Marcy, who had heard so much of this sort of talk since he reached Newbern that he was tired of it.

"But that isn't the point," said the operator. "See what a blow you have struck at the enemy's commerce. Keep it up long enough and you will drive his hated old rag from the sea."

Marcy had another ride with Morris, who was at the depot waiting for him when his train came in, and reached home at last to receive a tearful welcome from his mother.

"You don't gush over me at all," said he, as she threw her arms about his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. "Don't you know that I have roamed the high sea, smelled powder, and helped capture a Yankee vessel? It's the most despicable business in the world," he added, as he led his mother into the house out of earshot of all the servants. And then he told her how the capture had been effected, and explained why Beardsley would not immediately put to sea to try his luck again. He said, with a long-drawn sigh, that he was glad to get home, and hoped from the bottom of his heart that the Osprey might sink at her wharf before he was ordered to report aboard of her again. As for the prize-money, he supposed he would have to take it or set Beardsley's tongue in motion; but he would put it carefully away, and send it to the master of the Hollins if he ever had the chance.

"You don't feel at all as your Cousin Rodney does," said his mother, when he ceased speaking. "A long letter from him addressed to you came during your absence, and I took the liberty to read it. Yes, he enlisted almost as soon as he reached home, and is going with his company to Missouri, where he hopes to join Dick Graham, who belongs to the state troops under General Price."

"They have both lived up to their principles, but how have I lived up to mine?" said Marcy, taking the letter from his mother's hand. "I told them I should be true to my colors, no matter what happened, and how have I held to my resolution? I can't tell them just how I am situated, for suppose the letter should miscarry and fall into the hands of some fellow like Captain Beardsley? This is a nice way to live."

Rodney wrote as if he were full of enthusiasm, and gave a complete history of his movements since the day on which he bade his cousin good-by in Barrington. There was one short paragraph in his letter which will serve as a very good introduction to the second volume of this series of books, and we produce it entire. It ran as follows:

"It wouldn't be safe for you to come to this country, old fellow, and talk as you did while we were at school. You would be mobbed in spite of all I could do to prevent it. I hope you haven't got into any trouble by trying to be true to your colors since you have been in North Carolina. I can talk as I please here, and you know I please to denounce everything except secession and independence. I belong to an independent company of cavalry. The colonel commanding the regiment we wanted to join didn't think he had any authority to accept us unless we would give up our independent organization, and as we were resolved we wouldn't do that, we began to think we would be obliged to fight on our own hook; but just in the nick of time we learned that the troops serving in Missouri, under Price and McCulloch, were mostly partisans, and that either of those commanders would be glad to accept us. So there is where we are going as soon as we can get transportation, and who knows but I may see our old friend Dick Graham? Shall I tell him 'Hello!' for you? We furnish our own horses, the government allowing us sixty cents a day for the use of them. If they die or are killed in action, we are to get another mount from the enemy. Come and join us, Marcy. Throw your Union sentiments to the winds—you'll have to sooner or later—take sides with the friends of your state, swear allegiance to the flag of the Confederacy and battle for the right. Come and join my company and we'll have some high old times running the Yankees out of Missouri."

But the sequel proved that the despised Yankees could not be so easily driven; on the contrary they drove the rebels. Marcy's cousin manfully bore a soldier's part in some of the hardest battles that were fought in Missouri; and just what he did, and whether or not he enjoyed the "high old times" that came rather sooner than he expected, shall be told in the succeeding volume of this series which will be entitled, "RODNEY, THE PARTISAN."

THE END.



THE

FAMOUS

CASTLEMON

BOOKS.

BY

HARRY CASTLEMON.



No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys than "Harry Castlemon;" every book by him is sure to meet with hearty reception by young readers generally. His naturalness and vivacity lead his readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one volume is finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks "for more."

**Any volume sold separately.



GUNBOAT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $7 50 Frank, the Young Naturalist 1 25 Frank in the Woods 1 25 Frank on the Prairie 1 25 Frank on a Gunboat 1 25 Frank before Vicksburg 1 25 Frank on the Lower Mississippi 1 25

GO AHEAD SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Go Ahead; or, The Fisher Boy's Motto 1 25 No Moss; or, The Career of a Rolling Stone 1 25 Tom Newcombe; or, The Boy of Bad Habits 1 25

ROCKY MOUNTAIN" SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho 1 25 Frank among the Rancheros 1 25 Frank in the Mountains 1 25

SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle 1 25 The Sportsman's Club Afloat 1 25 The Sportsman's Club among the Trappers 1 25

FRANK NELSON SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Snowed Up; or, The Sportsman's Club in the Mts. 1 25 Frank Nelson in the Forecastle; or, The Sportsman's Club among the Whalers 1 25 The Boy Traders; or, The Sportsman's Club among the Boers 1 25

BOY TRAPPER SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 The Buried Treasure; or, Old Jordan's "Haunt" 1 25 The Boy Trapper; or, How Dave Filled the Order 1 25 The Mail Garnet 1 25

ROUGHING IT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 George in Camp; or, Life on the Plains 1 25 George at the Wheel; or, Life in a Pilot House 1 25 George at the Fort; or, Life Among the Soldiers 1 25

ROD AND GUN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Don Gordon's Shooting Box 1 25 Rod and Gun 1 25 The Young Wild Fowlers 1 25

FOREST AND STREAM SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Joe Wayring at Home; or, Story of a Fly Rod 1 25 Snagged and Sunk; or, The Adventures of a Canvas Canoe 1 25 Steel Horse; or, The Rambles of a Bicycle 1 25

WAR SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box 5 00 True to his Colors 1 25 Rodney, the Partisan 1 25 Marcy, the Blockade Runner 1 25 Marcy, the Refugee 1 25

OUR FELLOWS; or, Skirmishes with the Swamp Dragoons. By Harry Castlemon. 16mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra 1 25



ALGER'S

RENOWNED

BOOKS.

BY

HORATIO ALGER, JR.



Horatio Alger, Jr., has attained distinction as one of the most popular writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises all of his best books.

**Any volume sold separately.



RAGGED DICK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $7 50 Ragged Dick; or, Street Life in New York 1 25 Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter 1 25 Mark, the Match Boy; or, Richard Hunter's Ward 1 25 Rough and Ready; or, Life among the New York Newsboys 1 25 Ben, the Luggage Boy; or, Among the Wharves 1 25 Rufus and Rose; or, the Fortunes of Rough and Ready 1 25

TATTERED TOM SERIES. (FIRST SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box, 5 00 Tattered Tom; or, The Story of a Street Arab 1 25 Paul, the Peddler; or, The Adventures of a Young Street Merchant 1 25 Phil, the Fiddler; or, The Young Street Musician 1 25 Slow and Sure; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop 1 25

TATTERED TOM SERIES. (SECOND SERIES.) 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00 Julius; or the Street Boy Out West 1 25 The Young Outlaw; or, Adrift in the World 1 25 Sam's Chance and How He Improved it 1 25 The Telegraph Boy 1 25

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (FIRST SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00 Luck and Pluck; or John Oakley's Inheritance 1 25 Sink or Swim; or, Harry Raymond's Resolve 1 25 Strong and Steady; or, Paddle Your Own Canoe 1 25 Strive and Succeed; or, The Progress of Walter Conrad 1 25

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (SECOND SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00 Try and Trust; or, The Story of a Bound Boy 1 25 Bound to Rise; or Harry Walton's Motto 1 25 Risen from the Ranks; or, Harry Walton's Success 1 25 Herbert Carter's Legacy; or, The Inventor's Son 1 25

CAMPAIGN SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 7, vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Frank's Campaign; or, The Farm and the Camp 1 25 Paul Prescott's Charge 1 25 Charlie Codman's Cruise 1 25

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box 5 00 Brave and Bold; or, The Story of a Factory Boy 1 25 Jack's Ward; or, The Boy Guardian 1 25 Shifting for Himself; or, Gilbert Greyson's Fortunes 1 25 Wait and Hope; or, Ben Bradford's Motto 1 25

PACIFIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00 The Young Adventurer; or, Tom's Trip Across the Plains 1 25 The Young Miner; or, Tom Nelson in California 1 25 The Young Explorer; or, Among the Sierras 1 25 Ben's Nugget; or, A Boy's Search for Fortune. A Story of the Pacific Coast 1 25

ATLANTIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box 5 00 The Young Circus Rider; or, The Mystery of Robert Rudd 1 25 Do and Dare; or, A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune 1 25 Hector's Inheritance; or, Boys of Smith Institute 1 25 Helping Himself; or, Grant Thornton's Ambition l 25

WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00 Bob Burton 1 25 The Store Boy 1 25 Luke Walton 1 25 Struggling Upward 1 25

NEW BOOK BY ALGER. DIGGING FOR GOLD. By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated 12mo. Cloth, black, red and gold 1 25



A

New Series of Books.

Indian Life

and

Character

Founded on

Historical

Facts.



By Edward S. Ellis.

** Any volume sold separately.

BOY PIONEER SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Ned in the Block House; or, Life on the Frontier 1 25 Ned in the Woods. A Tale of the Early Days in the West 1 25 Ned on the River 1 25

DEERFOOT SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. In box containing the following. 3 vols., 12mo. Illustrated $3 75 Hunters of the Ozark 1 25 Camp in the Mountains 1 25 The Last War Trail 1 25

LOG CABIN SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Lost Trail 1 25 Camp-Fire and Wigwam 1 25 Footprints in the Forest 1 25

WYOMING SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 Wyoming 1 25 Storm Mountain 1 25 Cabin in the Clearing 1 25

NEW BOOKS BY EDWARD S. ELLIS.

Through Forest and Fire. 12mo. Cloth 1 25 On the Trail of the Moose. 12mo. Cloth 1 25

By C. A. Stephens.

Rare books for boys bright, breezy, wholesome and instructive; full of adventure and incident, and information upon natural history. They blend instruction with amusement contain much useful and valuable information upon the habits of animals, and plenty of adventure, fun and jollity.

CAMPING OUT SERIES. By C. A. Stephens. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $7 50 Camping Out. As recorded by "Kit" 1 25 Left on Labrador; or The Cruise of the Schooner Yacht "Curfew." As recorded by "Wash" 1 25 Off to the Geysers; or, The Young Yachters in Iceland. As recorded by "Wade" 1 25 Lynx Hunting. From Notes by the author of "Camping Out" 1 25 Fox Hunting. As recorded by "Raed" 1 25 On the Amazon; or, The Cruise of the "Rambler." As recorded by "Wash" 1 25

By J. T. Trowbridge.

These stories will rank among the best of Mr. Trowbridge's books for the young—and he has written some of the best of our juvenile literature.

JACK HAZARD SERIES. By J. T. Trowbridge. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully Illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $7 50 Jack Hazard and His Fortunes 1 25 A Chance for Himself; or, Jack Hazard and his Treasure 1 25 Doing His Best 1 25 Fast Friends 1 25 The Young Surveyor; or, Jack on the Prairies 1 25 Lawrence's Adventures Among the Ice Cutters, Glass Makers, Coal Miners, Iron Men and Ship Builders 1 25

—GOOD BOOKS— Suitable for Girls between the Ages of 12 and 15.

Ways and Means. A Story for girls. By Margaret Vandegrift. With four illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25

The Queen's Body-Guard. A Story for Girls. By Margaret Vandegrift. With four illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25

Rose Raymond's Wards. A Story for Girls. By Margaret Vandegrift. Illustrated with four engravings on wood. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25

Doris and Theodora. A Story for Girls. By Margaret Vandegrift. Illustrated with four engravings on wood. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25

Dr. Gilbert's Daughters. A Story for Girls. By Margaret Harriet Mathews. Illustrated with four engravings on wood. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25

Esther's Fortune. A Romance for Girls. By Lucy C. Lillie. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, brown and gold 1 25

Helen Glenn; or, My Mother's Enemy. A Story for Girls. By Lucy C. Lillie. Illustrated with eight illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25

The Squire's Daughter. By Lucy C. Lillie. 12mo. Illustrated. Cloth, extra 1 25

For Honor's Sake. By Lucy C. Lillie. 12mo. Illustrated. Cloth, extra 1 25

Marion Berkley. A Story for Girls. By Lizzie B. Comins (Laura Caxton). 12mo. Illustrated. Cloth, extra, brown and gold 1 25

Hartwell Farm. A Story for Girls. By Lizzie B. Comins (Laura Caxton). 12mo. Illustrated. Cloth, extra, brown and gold 1 25



THE HANDSOMEST AND CHEAPEST GIFT BOOKS

The "Bells" Series.

The "BELLS" Series has been undertaken by the publishers with a view to issue original illustrated poems of a high character, at a price within the reach of all classes.

Small 4to . . . . . . . . . . $1 50

Ivory surface . . . . . . . . 1 50

Embossed calf, gilt edges . . 1 50

GEMS FROM TENNYSON. By ALFRED TENNYSON. Elegantly illustrated by Hammatt Billings.

BEAUTIES OF TENNYSON. By ALFRED TENNYSON. Elegantly illustrated with twenty engravings, from original drawings by Frederic B. Schell. Beautifully printed on the finest plate paper.

FROM GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. By BISHOP HEBER. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by Frederic B. Schell. Beautifully printed on the finest plate paper.

LADY CLARE. By ALFRED TENNYSON. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by Alfred Fredericks, F. S. Church, Harry Fenn, F. B. Schell, E. P. Garret and Granville Perkins. Beautifully printed on the finest plate paper.

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. By CLEMENT C. MOORE. Never before has this popular poem—a favorite with both the old and the young—been presented in such a beautiful dress. It is elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by F. B. Schell, W. T. Smedley, A. Fredericks and H. R. Poore.

BINGEN ON THE RHINE. By CAROLINE E. NORTON. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by W. T. Smedley, F. B. Schell, A. Fredericks, Granville Perkins and E. P. Garrett.

THE BELLS. By EDGAR ALLAN POE. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by F. O. C. Darley, A. Fredericks, Granville Perkins and others.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. By OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Elegantly illustrated with thirty-five engravings, from drawings by Hammatt Billings.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. By ROBERT BURNS. Elegantly illustrated with fifty engravings, from drawings by Chapman.

THE END